Of Birds and Spiders
by Penmanboat
Summary: Clint has been recruited straight out of college for SHIELD, and his first assignment involves a certain spider. His "executive desicion" changes the course of all their lives- both now and in the far future. Movieverse, multiple pairings, T moslty for language. Written by Frozen Nightmare.
1. Prelude

**A/N**

**This is the story of how Hawkeye meant Tasha and all that stuff. Starts pre-movie, but will eventually work its way to post-movie. There will be one OC involved in this- Lydia Harris, Hawkeye's protégé. She doesn't make her first real appearance until much later though. I have never read the comics so it will be movieverse and my messed-up headcanon. Written by Frozen Nightmare, who shares this account.**

**HeadCanon ages for this era(just so you aren't confused)**

**Hawkeye-23**

**Black Widow- 21**

**Iron Man- 33**

**CA- still being a popsicle**

**Hulk-38**

**Thor- still in Asgard**

**Harrier(Lydia)-12**

**Spider-man(yeah, I kind of consider him an avenger. No appearance until later though.)- 14**

Prelude

The Hawk's Last Song

Just for the record, Clint hadn't wanted to be here at all.

The whole point of this graduation was to receive an unimportant degree for a false career, a mere formality in his string of lies. He was tired of listening to the commencement speaker, tired of the feel of the robes fluttering around his ankles in the soft wind. At least they were purple.

He knew what was coming after this was over. All his "friends" would go out and party. He, meanwhile, would be heading back to his modest New York apartment, to pack his things and hang up his Hawkeye costume for good.

He hadn't decided what he would do with his bow yet. SHIELD had told him he would receive a much better one, that an operative as talented as him, albeit new, deserved better than his handmade thing. Privately he agreed. He would miss the old thing, but he looked forward to a newer, more advanced one.

This was it, then. The Hawk's last song, the last ballad of the hero who had protected New York ever since he was sixteen. The game was over, and it was time to get on with real life. Well, as real as a life as you could call SHIELD agent. Officially, he wouldn't exist anymore.

The story was that he had been recruited by the military, and no one was too surprised. After all, they said, he's a bright young man. Good shot, too. It makes sense for him to be a soldier.

He recalled the day when SHIELD had found him. He had been up in his roost after a long night when Nick Fury had showed up, pointed a gun at his head, and asked him if he wanted to work for them. Well, it hadn't worked exactly like that, but it was how he had remembered it.

At the time, he had turned Fury down. He had six months left in college, and wouldn't be a suspicious if an honor student left halfway through the year? But he still had full intentions to join them. "The day after I graduate," he had said, "I'm yours."

Fury had reluctantly agreed, but Clint knew that his reluctance had only been because he had been admitting to himself that Clint was right, that it would look suspicious.

He was contemplating all of this when it suddenly struck him who to give his bow to.

_Lydia._

She was clever, and a damn good shot too. He should know- after all, he had taught her. Granted, she was only twelve, but he suspected she would take up his job soon. Without school to go to, the girl was just desperate to be out in the world, doing _something._

He had found her when she was six, a street orphan with nowhere to go. Or more accurately, she had found him. She had spotted him in one of his perches, a feat no one else had ever achieved, not even the police. He couldn't just ignore that kind of talent, especially after she had proceeded to shoot a pigeon in the eye from five hundred yards.

Yes, that would be perfect. She deserved a bow of her own, especially now that he would be gone. He wasn't worried at all about leaving her alone either. That kid could take care of herself.

Somewhere beyond, he heard his name being called.

Time to end his song.


	2. Chapter 1

**AN: Thanks to Penmanboat for betaing this chapter and letting me use her account!**

Of Birds and Spiders Chapter 1

Widow's Will

"Queen of hearts."

Clint sighed and tossed his hand onto the table. "Fold."

Maria just smirked and collected her cash. Fury's personal assistant also happened to be a brilliant card player. He and the other handful of agents hadn't known this, and were now out a good fifty dollars apiece. No wonder no one else wanted to play with them.

He and about five other new agents were sitting in the small waiting room outside Fury's office, awaiting their first assignments. After they had been there for a good twenty minutes, Agent Hill had walked up, insisted they call her Maria, challenged them to a game, then proceeded to empty their wallets. He wished he had been smart enough to realize that looks on the faces of the older agents in the room were pity.

Oh well. It was too late now.

"Agent Barton?" called one of Fury's desk girls. He rose from his spot.

She spotted him and beckoned him into a small room. Fury was sitting behind his sizable desk, along with a man in his mid- 40's.

"Agent Barton." coughed Fury, not even looking up. "This is Agent Phil Coulson. He'll be your handler."

"I'll be in charge of your assignments!" said Coulson with a smile. He seemed too _cheery _to be an agent. No, cheery wasn't the word. Clint couldn't find a word to describe the man.

"Okay, sure. Just cut to the chase so we can get on with it."he growled.

"Oh, he's a cold one, Fury."

"Just how I like them. This is our prodigy from New York."

Coulson's attitude suddenly changed to sharp and professional. "I see. Well, that explains what you gave him."

"Gave me what?"

"Right this way, Barton." Coulson stated, pushing him into a considerably smaller office. The older man sat down behind the desk. "Will Agent Barton work, or would you prefer to be called Hawkeye?"

"Agent Barton is just fine."said Clint, his voice just as clipped as Coulson's.

"Well, excellent." He grabbed a rather thick file from the desk drawer. "You'll find everything you'll need in here. Your plane will be awaiting you at exactly 13:00 hours. Do _not_ be late."

Clint walked back to his room, skimming the folder as he went.

_Black Widow_

_Name Unknown. Has gone by Katyusha Arlykov and Illina Karthink. .._

… _ruthless assassin, responsible for multiple murders…_

…_urban combat specialist…_

_Knows crucial information involving Russian and possibly other country's missile codes. Must be taken out before she can sell them. She will sell them if given the chance._

And a picture, a grainy one, possibly from a security camera, of a young woman with curly red hair and green eyes. Her eyes weren't just green, they were that kind that cut through your soul and sealed your death warrant.

Clint sighed. Interesting.

Very interesting indeed.

SHIELD had more faith in his abilities than he had first realized, if they were giving him such a high-profile case already.

He reached over from his chair and checked the file again.

_Last known whereabouts: Moscow, Russia._

Better get on that plane, then.

His alibi turned out to be an American tourist. That was good, given that his Russian /sucked./ It also gave him an excuse to carry a large camera. No wonder agents like posing as tourists. You could do all sorts of crap and the locals wouldn't think much of it.

He wasn't dealing with a local, though. She may be Russian, but she would almost certainly see through his disguise. He had figured as much, that his disguise was more for the general public than for her. He hoped his handful of surprises had gone unnoticed though.

The map he was unfolding and refolding was showing him nothing. He couldn't read a single word of it, couldn't understand where the street he was looking for was.

"Need some help?"

A Russian girl of about eighteen was standing behind him, watching him mess unsuccessfully with the map. At first he thought she might be the Widow, but her mousy brown hair was natural and her chocolate eyes free from any alterations. Not the woman he was looking for. An associate, perhaps? He couldn't be sure here.

"I need to get to Relikov Avenue," he said, with as much of a look of confusion as he could muster, "but I can't read this map." His brain pulled a street a block from his target. That way, if she was working for the Widow, she wouldn't get too suspicious, and he could still find what he was looking for.

She nodded, "Turn left down this street, and it'll be three blocks down."

"Thank you," he nodded, and walked away. The last rays of the sun were permeating the skyline like water in sand, night coming to take over the city. All the better for his work.

He found the apartment about an hour later, the soft lights from the window leaking through the curtain. It was six stories up.

He was starting to understand why Fury had given him this case.

Clint set his backpack on the ground, wrangling the bow and quiver out of it. It had been designed to crumple outward and reveal them at a moment's notice, and removing them manually was not an easy task. He stripped off his outer street clothes, removing his headset from his pocket and jamming it in his ear.

"This is Hawkeye, I'm in position." he whispered into it.

"Well done, agent," came Coulson's voice. "In all honesty, I thought you'd be dead by now."

Coulson had thought he wouldn't make it this far? He hadn't even gotten to the hard part yet. How much faith did the man have in him?

_Probably none at all. _ he thought with a smirk, answering his own question. He hasn't exactly given Coulson a reason to yet.

He snapped his compact bow into full size, slung it over his shoulder, and ditched the tourist attire in a nearby trashcan. The apartment the Widow had chosen was a well-protected spot: out of the way, quiet, and no fire escape. It would just make scaling her wall more of a challenge.

He slipped up along the edge of the wall, his hand resting on the first protruding brick he could find. It only hung out an inch, but it would be enough.

He grabbed hold and violently pulled himself upward, grabbing to every tiny handhold he could find. Soon,he was six stories up, perched on the tiny window ledge.

Clint risked a glance inside the curtain. The lights were on, but there was no sign of the Widow.

_Must be in another room. _he decided. Clint carefully pried open the window, pausing every time he heard a sound. He slipped inside , landing on the floor soundlessly.

The quiet lasted for a split second, only to be burst by a loud CRACK as the wall above his head splintered into a thousand pieces. Clint had seen the muzzle flash and ducked just in time.

And then all hell broke loose.

The Widow leapt from her hiding place, brandishing a sleek black pistol. She aimed three dead shots at Clint's head, each one missing by the smallest of distances. He rolled underneath her range, nocking an arrow and nearly striking her. But she was fast,too, fast as he was, maybe even faster. It wasn't going to be easy to land a shot.

Another bullet far too close for comfort. He had to get that gun out of her hand!

Thinking as quickly as he could, Clint bounced off the wall and flipped behind her. She whipped around to face him, but was a fraction too slow and took a boot to the chest. The Widow didn't even seem to stumble at this, just kept moving, kept turning.

_Does she have any weakness?_

His pause to think cost him precious seconds. A bullet grazed his shoulder, leaving behind a ferocious blaze of pain.

_SHIT!_

He couldn't stop, he had to ignore the pain, had to keep going. He had been shot before, nothing new. Granted, he'd never been shot and had to keep fighting, but it was just a new experience, right?

He gritted his teeth through the pain and dropped his bow. The unexpected movement seemed to catch the Widow off guard, and he landed a clean punch on her face. She flinched, and he used that moment to pin her to the wall by one wrist, twisting the gun out of her hand with the other.

She wasn't done, though. The redhead reared up beneath his grasp and kicked him squarely in the chest, sending Clint flying backwards. He pulled into a roll, landing neatly and grabbing his bow. She made a move for her pistol, but he fired quickly, and she was pinned to the wall, an arrow cutting through her skin and into the plaster.

He raised his bow for a killing shot, pulling it back and ignoring the pain in his arm. But when he tried to release the string, he found he couldn't do it.

He couldn't kill her.

In all actuality he could, so maybe a more accurate term was he didn't _want_ to kill her.

He had killed before, it shouldn't have been a problem. Why couldn't he do it?

Maybe it was because of her age. She looked barely twenty, far too young to be doing this.

_She's killed too many people, Barton. Just let the arrow go already!_

The Widow leveled her dangerous gaze on him. "Get on with it already!" she snarled .

Except she didn't seem so dangerous anymore. Infuriated, yes. She was rage-filled and hurting and all those things that you might expect.

But (and maybe it was just his imagination) she also seemed the teensiest bit _scared._

He couldn't shoot that.

"Barton?" came Coulson's voice over the earpiece. "You alive in there? That sounded like one hell of a firefight."

"You could call it that."

"Mission status?"

Clint paused, unsure what to say.

"Barton, what's your status?"

"It's...complicated."


End file.
